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Friday, January 31, 2014

Sleeping Treasures

The following is a losing entry into the Splickety microfic contest. It was inspired by the picture in this post. Look closely and you can see the dragon.

We'd never seen treasure like it before.Miners like us are used to finding the
value in black coal that covers your face and stifles your breath, so when we
stumbled on the trove, half-buried in calcified stone, our imaginations
flared.I scrabbled at a
ruby-encrusted crown with my pick, but the work was slow.

"Put it back," Don warned, hand outstretched and
eyes turned upwards.We all
followed his gaze.Dragons were
not supposed to exist.They were
the stuff of fairy tales, the playthings of children's imaginations.But we could not deny the beast, poised
on its haunches.It, like its
hoard, had been calcified, likely the victim of the same ancient spell.Or was it still alive, sleeping,
guarding?

Don backed away.The men all followed.A
week passed before I disturbed the stagnant cave air with my pick again.After all, the dragon couldn't stop me.